


A Wet Red Devil

by CBlue



Category: DCU (Comics), Justice League Dark (Comics), Justice League Dark Apokolips War
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Based on a Tumblr Post, Constantine's Bullshit, Drunken Confessions, M/F Friendship, M/M, Minor Allusions to JLD Apokolips but it's used more as a frame of reference than actually adhered to, Near Death Experiences, POV Outsider, Sexual Language, Zatara Dealing With Constantine's Bullshit, illusions to sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:07:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24100099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CBlue/pseuds/CBlue
Summary: There was a reason Zatanna did not often invite Constantine to join their missions. The bloody Batman didn't have to deal with this shit.“So, are you…” Constantine trailed off meaningfully, and while Zatanna’s back was turned to the warlock she knew those dark eyes were drinking in the sight as if it were a fine whisky.As if King Shark was a fine whisky.Christ.
Relationships: John Constantine/King Shark, John Constantine/Zatanna Zatara (past)
Comments: 33
Kudos: 412





	A Wet Red Devil

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hieiandshino](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hieiandshino/gifts).



> I haven't seen Apokolips War but I read the Wiki, does that count?
> 
> This is fully based on the fact that I love the idea of John Constantine and King Shark (thanks Tumblr and Hieiandshino). I played fast and loose with the base. materials to tell the story I wanted so I apologize for the bastardization of canon and timelines, but it's the fanfic I wanted to write. A Red Devil is a drink using Irish Whisky and Tomato Juice, serving it Wet means it's more the mixer - there's something poetic in there, probably.
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy this regardless because I had tons of fun writing this and long live Constant King!

_There was a reason Zatanna did not often invite Constantine to join their missions._

John Constantine was the single most irritating human to have ever existed. A brilliantly talented warlock with a bastard smug grin. A knack to create anarchy amongst even the most peaceful of beings. Zatanna was certain that even Superman himself had wanted to make Constantine choke on his smarmy words.

Sighing, Zatanna placed her forehead to her palm. While she had always tried to keep from inviting Constantine along - well - needs must and all that.

_But was this worth it?_

Constantine - due to his own dickish charm and lack of inhibitions - was one of the few people Zatanna knew who had no qualms working with the Suicide Squad. Most other heroes worked with them reluctantly at best and completely ignored them at most. It made situations like this, where Amanda Waller could admit to being out of her depth in magical arts, rather difficult.

The woman was so _controlling._ Dangerous collars for criminally insane villains notwithstanding, she had tried contorting the mission to her liking. These were dangerous arts they were meddling with and it was exactly the reason why Waller had reached out to Zatanna in the first place.

The bloody Batman didn’t have to deal with this shit.

Gritting her teeth, Zatanna turned to face the villain known as Captain Boomerang where he sat beside her. “If you move your hand any closer and you’ll find that I don’t need magic to break every bone in your fingers.”

Captain Boomerang raised his hands in surrender, looking to her with a pair of wide eyes and a stretched grin. “No need to get all boiled over it,” he chuckled, “jus’ wanted to show you how lovely workin’ with the Suicide Squad can be.” His toothy grin was neither disarming nor charming. Zatanna _did not care_.

Being a magician both on stage and for her own Justice League meant that Zatanna had dealt with those gazes before. Hell, even the aforementioned Constantine had once looked to her in such a way. At the time, the glances had been reciprocated. At the time, things had been very different and Zatanna had been drawn into his darkness and mystery.

Now she was _tired_.

Tired of Constantine’s smug face and dark eyes and the way he kept looking. The look that had been hers and had been many others before her and after her. Now it was directed to another and it was just going to make this job _bloody complicated_.

How does one find sexual appeal in _King bloody Shark?!_

Inhaling sharply to calm herself, Zatanna let the natural quipping of the clever but insane Harley Quinn wash over her. The woman’s bickering and loud spoken monologue were much preferred to Captain Boomerang’s unwanted advances and whatever the _bloody fuck_ Constantine thought he was doing with _King Shark_.

“So, are you…” Constantine trailed off meaningfully, and while Zatanna’s back was turned to the warlock she _knew_ those dark eyes were drinking in the sight as if it were a fine whisky.

As if _King Shark_ was a _fine whisky_. _Christ_.

“What?” King Shark’s bass tone was sharp as teeth as he snapped his response. Every time the monstrous man - demi-god if rumors were to be believed - spoke, his mouth emanated the smell of rotting fish and old blood. How did Constantine _stand_ it?

Zatanna was _tired_. Not jealous of an old flame. Not disappointed that Constantine was behaving in such a Constantine-manner, but just _tired._

“Are you shark _everywhere_?” The damned occult expert purred.

Zatanna was just grateful she wasn’t flying the bloody plane.

* * *

Sipping her drink, Zatanna pointedly ignored the drunken warlock who lay plastered beside her. “I don’t know what you were thinking, honestly.” She eventually succumbed to the point of speaking.

“I wasn’,” his mumbled words were barely heard, but Zatanna knew Constantine well enough to speak even his most drunken slurring. “Jus’ wanted to know what it was like.”

“And now you’re…” Zatanna cut herself off, hardly believing it herself. She slammed back the remainder of her drink before slamming the glass to the wooden bar. With a nod, the bartender was filling her cup. She’d most certainly need it.

Her drinking companion held out his own glass to be filled, only rising from his half stupor to begin drinking with renewed vigor as the whiskey shone under the lowlight of the bar. “Dating the bloody shark,” he slammed his shot back aggressively before smacking his lips, “yeah.”

Zatanna was _really bloody tired_. She shot back her own glass.

Another moment of silence passed between the two of them as their tumblers were refilled. This time they quietly nursed their drinks. Sighing, Zatanna raised a pointed eyebrow. “So…” she began.

“So what?” Constantine spoke in that façade of nonchalance even as his dark eyes steeled before Zatanna’s vision.

There was a lot of _what_. Like _what are you expecting from this_ , or _can this end well_ , or hell even _is he actually the son of a Shark God?_

Instead what Zatanna asked was, “ _does_ he have a shark dick?”

A grin of mischief, all teeth and smarm, cut itself jaggedly across Constantine’s face. “Oh, Zatanna, even you know,” he whispered in that suggestive tone of his. His accent somehow thicker with his inebriation, making his words drip like honey or molasses. “Sharks have _two_.”

_Saints preserve us,_ Zatanna was _tired._

And more than a bit curious about the nature of _bloody King Shark’s_ genitalia.

“All you had to say was _yes_ ,” Zatanna spoke sharply, “believe it or not, I’m no longer interested in what happens in your bedroom.”

“Interested enough to ask about my boyfriend’s dick,” Constantine quipped, bringing the tumbler to his lips. He paused mid-action, eyes catching on some reflection in the mirror that lay flush against the bar’s back wall.

Zatanna sat up straighter, slowly her intoxication seemed to fade as the adrenaline kicked in. Awareness she was not able to recall her surroundings a moment before drowning her suddenly. “What is it?” She asked in a hushed tone.

Constantine looked from the mirror - _from his own reflection_ \- to Zatanna. “My bloody fucking _boyfriend_.”

Grimacing, Zatanna looked to her tumbler and then Constantine’s own. “You’re paying for the next round,” she smirked, shaking her head.

She was not nearly drunk enough to be talking about John Constantine’s bloody relationship with the Suicide Squad’s renowned demi-god _King bloody Shark_.

* * *

The thing is - Zatanna’s not entirely sure as to _what_ this relationship is built upon. Was it open? A reassured bed partner when they graced the same missions? Did they seek one another out? There was never quite any telling when it came to John Constantine.

Zatanna knew that Constantine was capable of relationships a little more _committed_ once every super wolf moon, but she had on more than one occasion been oddly stumped pursuing thoughts of dating _a large humanoid shark_. It wasn’t exactly like the couple could go out for coffee or anything.

What Zatanna should have been expecting was walking in on Constantine falling to his knees before a possible demi-god like he was at an altar. Never before had she so ground her heels into the steel floor beneath her feet. Shouting, Zatanna slammed the door behind her.

“Fucking _locks_ , John!” Seething, Zatanna stormed down the hall. “You have a _House_ for this shit, for-”

“Miss Zatara?” A voice called her from the wind tunnel she had seemingly found her thoughts in. “Uh, I-I’m looking for Mister Constantine? S-someone said he was a-a special guest at your show?” The poor, paling thing seemingly shook.

How in the hell Constantine was managing to do occult business while pretending to be in attendance at her show while he was actually taking _King Shark_ \- and would that ever stop startling Zatanna? - all at once was simultaneously unsurprising and disappointing. Now she had to entertain one of Constantine’s possible clients, desperation painting their face, lest she send them to their doom of walking in on Constantine and his elasmobranch boyfriend.

Shuttering, Zatanna painted a performing smile across her face. “Constantine’s indisposed at the moment. How about you go sit over there and grab some water?” The faux beatific grin seemed to appease the as of yet unnamed client as they nodded, making their way to the couch.

Zatanna sighed softly as she turned. The stagehands were already barking commands at one another, scrambling like meerkats. Normal, ordinary humans doing their normal, ordinary jobs for the magician Zatanna who was also _The Magician Zatanna_ all the while her ex-boyfriend was in the room over and keeping his client waiting-

“Lot on your mind?” Constantine’s drawl dragged her from her pacing. That damn smirk irritating her every nerve. She wasn’t usually so anxious before shows. Perhaps it was because Constantine had suddenly invaded when _he had his own bloody House_.

Furrowing her brow, Zatanna raised her chin. “You’ve got tartar sauce on your mouth.” She crossed her arms over her chest, sticking her hip out in what could only be translated as _tired_ but _tired of Constantine’s bullshit_.

Constantine licked his lips in a slow draw of his tongue. Eyes twinkling, he sauntered closer to where Zatanna stood. “Haven’t seen a young thing about, have you? Bit of business to attend to.” His grin was something that Zatanna was tempted to smack from his face.

“On the back couch,” she huffed, “and how - _exactly_ \- are you smuggling your boyfriend out of my show?” Zatanna’s frown harshed, deepening her features into a stony expression.

Chuckling, Constantine shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m good with doors,” he quipped, winking as he pulled himself to stop just short of her.

Zatanna bared her teeth. She was _tired_ and she was _busy_ and she was _tired of Constantine’s bullshit._ “Couldn’t have used your door efficiency to take your romping to somewhere more private?” Hissing, Zatanna matched Constantine’s eye level.

Constantine’s demeanor shifted. Subtle, like a shadow passing over his face. The darkness overtook his eyes again, gone was the twinkle of a tease. “Well,” he thinned his lips into a half-smile, “best get to work.”

Swaggering off, coat billowing behind him, Zatanna was left furrowing her brow against the air. Constantine always was a closed-off bastard, preferring to brood like the Batman more than speak what was on his mind. Why was it always the blunt knives that would rather turn inward? Zatanna shook her head. There was no prying that oyster open and Zatanna had better things to do than be concerned about whatever ailment was eating away at Constantine’s headspace this time.

Zatanna paused before stepping onto the side of the stage. She turned back to see the vague figure of Constantine’s coat hovering in a standoffish manner. The man was a mystery. A martyr and a fool. Zatanna would be damned if she could ever puzzle the man’s motivations out.

* * *

“Oh my _God_ ,” Zatanna groaned, rubbing a hand over her face as a pissed Constantine leaned heavily against the side of her front door. “It’s 4 in the _morning_ , Constantine.” She snapped.

He chuckled derisively. Shaking his head, Constantine gave a wave of his hand before his mumbled speech came through. “Figures. S’not where I was wantin’ to be anyway.”

Closing her eyes and inhaling sharply, Zatanna opened her front door further. “Get your drunk ass in here before my neighbours start talking.”

Constantine’s smirk was lazily sprawled over his face, looking more like a kindergartener’s drawing than his usually carefully painted smug grin. It had been quite some time since Zatanna had witnessed Constantine truly plastered like this, and she hadn’t ever recalled a time when he had shown up on someone’s _doorstep_.

Closing the door behind them, Zatanna helped Constantine limp into her living room. She turned on the lamp that rested beside the couch just as the warlock fell into the cushions. He gave a sigh, head draping over the back of the couch.

“Are you going to tell me _why_ you’re here?” Zatanna crossed her arms but omitted the cock of her hip this time. Constantine already looked pathetic enough as it was. _God_ , what if he was on another one of his self-martyring burn trips again? It was too early in the morning for _any_ of this.

Constantine didn’t even lift his head to meet her gaze. Merely waved his hand about some more. “‘S what people do, innit?” He rolled his head to look at her from the corner of glossed eyes. “Get drunk an’ cry at their friends?”

“N-” she paused, blinking herself into a more awake state as Constantine’s words washed over her. Zatanna could count the amount of times Constantine had openly referred to someone as a friend on one hand. “Usually they come over and friends get drunk _together_ ,” Zatanna let out a sigh, sitting on the couch beside Constantine.

A few silent moments passed before Constantine rolled his head to rest against Zatanna’s shoulder. It was a tactile move, one that Zatanna would have never assumed of Constantine. Then again, when was there every successful guessing about that man?

His drunken slurring brought her from her thoughts, but not in enough time to understand him. “What was that?” Zatanna asked softly, fearing breaking whatever fragile thing coated the air like first snow.

A loud laugh broke it, shattering the atmosphere like glass and altering the sound. Constantine cleared his throat. “‘broke up, me an’ the ol’ sea dog.”

Blinking again, a cold wash of reality soaking her in the morning, Zatanna turned to face Constantine. The movement jostled him from her shoulder and he rolled his head to lean back against the couch again. Zatanna opened her mouth to speak, aborting the movement twice before speaking.

“You broke up with _King Shark?_ ” Zatanna prodded, biting her lip before hesitantly brushing Constantine’s bangs from his forehead. His sweat was clinging to his skin and in turn, his flesh exuded the smell of heavy liquor.

“ _Nanaue_ ,” Constantine corrected, voice perfectly clear despite his otherwise drunken slurring. “Different tides an’ all tha’,” his speech sloshed like an overburdened tumbler. “Figured can’t be the only one havin’ an’ awful time at-” he cut his words, squinting his eyes in examination of the room, “you don’t have a bloody clock anywhere.”

Zatanna sighed, “it’s sometime around 4.” Standing, Zatanna looked over Constantine’s pitiful state. “I’ll get you some blankets so you can crash.”

Something that only faintly resembled his usual smirk greeted her as he shook his head, overshooting and rolling his neck around in a moment too uncoordinated to have been purposeful. Zatanna inhaled sharply to steady herself only to be greeted once more by Constantine’s drunken aroma.

When she had returned with the blanket, Constantine was completely knackered. Dead to the waking world, the occult specialist drooled into the arm of her couch. Zatanna could not help the softness that she felt for him. For all his martyrdom and mystery, he was a man. A broken man, but a good one under the shit he buried himself in.

Draping the blanket over Constantine’s sleeping form, Zatanna kissed his forehead gently. “Sleep well, John,” she asked of him before returning upstairs to resume her own slumber. Constantine’s snores a gentle lul that faded into the silence of early hours as Zatanna made it to her room.

Her sleep was lackluster. Tossing and turning thinking of her friend downstairs. Of the momentary vulnerability he had shown. Waking to her alarm, Zatanna felt _tired_. Tired and _tired of Constantine’s machismo bullshit._

Unsurprisingly, Constantine was gone before she came downstairs.

* * *

Teaming up with the Titans was usually reserved for the _actual_ Justice League and not the dark, shadowy counterpart that Zatanna and her team comprised of. However, with the Justice League off-planet, it fell to Zatanna and her team to aid them.

Robin was excellent at leading the team. He had learned underneath Batman’s leathery wing, after all, and Zatanna had expected no less. What Zatanna had _not_ expected was also teaming up with the Squad during this world-ending mission.

“ _Bollocks_ ,” Constantine cursed under his breath.

Beside him, Raven’s curious gaze furrowed as she looked from the warlock to the recently arrived Suicide Squad. “Trouble?”

“Worse,” Constantine withheld the groan Zatanna knew would have otherwise laced his words, “my ex.”

Raven’s wide eyes turned from Constantine to the Squad. “Harley Quinn?” Her disbelief was evident in her breathy voice. Judgement was cast to both party but Zatanna nearly missed it because-

_Really?_ As if Dr. Harleen Quinzel would engage herself with _another_ mentally unstable man. Zatanna nearly snorted a laugh.

“Do I look insane?” Constantine scoffed, eyes moving determinedly to King Shark. It was a gesture that was unmistakable. Raven would have recoiled had she not been better collected. King Shark only bared his teeth in a feral grin, giving silent response.

Zatanna was going to have to team up with _children_ , her ex-boyfriend-turned-friend, and her ex-boyfriend-turned-friend’s ex-boyfriend-who-actually-might-have-broken-his-heart.

Zatanna was _fucking tired._

“Okay, kids,” Zatanna spoke aloud, drawing all three teams’ attention toward her, “we can catch up later. Right now we’ve got an impending situation.”

Harley Quinn beamed, “ _impendin’ situation_.” She laughed, a sharp bell reverberating in the room, “I always had a soft spot for ya.”

Smirking, Zatanna could only afford to spare Constantine a glance. Whatever he was feeling - because Zatanna was smart enough to know he _was_ feeling - was hidden behind his mask of dark eyes and fake smugness. Unfortunately, this was a time when Constantine was right. Time to turn on the showman until the world _wasn’t_ ending.

Then again, when _wasn’t_ it ending?

_Christ,_ Zatanna was _tired._

Of course, it was Robin, son of the World’s Greatest Detective, to have mentioned it first. Robin approached silently, a shadow creeping along steel until he stood beside Zatanna.

“Is it going to be a problem?” His voice was not the gravel of his father, but most certainly a reflection of the dark city of his growth. “Their history?”

Zatanna would not insult him by asking for clarification. Humming, she turned to the monitors in front of her. “If there’s anything that John knows how to do, it’s putting himself aside to stop the world from burning.”

A hum erupted from Robin, the young man nodding in agreement. Silence cloaked them like a hood until he questioned, “why the hell would anyone date _King Shark_?”

“Nanaue,” Zatanna corrected without tearing her gaze from the feed. “Constantine’s always had a taste for the dangerous.”

Robin’s lips quirked into a subtle smile, a mirror of one Zatanna had seen flutter across Batman’s usually scowling features. “That why you and he were a thing?”

Zatanna smirked, “probably,” finally looking away, she let herself fully take in Robin’s posture and inquisitive nature. “But you know all about admiring dark things, don’t you?”

Freezing ever in the slightest, Robin’s arms shifted to cross his chest. “What have you found so far?” He easily switched the conversation, using the social grace provided to him by his parentage.

She allowed the change, swiveling to face the large monitor once more. She was tired, but noticeably less so.

* * *

“Did it mean that much?” Zatanna coughed, blood spilling like wine from her mouth but tasting like copper. “You and Nanaue?”

Constantine let out a bitter sounding laugh, the darks of his eyes burning with that flame that kept him moving. Kept the mechanisms of his heart churning. His hands, calloused and soaking from the rain, swept her hair away from her face.

“What the fuck does that matter?” Constantine gritted through his teeth. Squinting against the rain, the warlock shouted again. “Somebody help!” His voice cracked through the thunder and rain.

Zatanna laughed lightly, but even that was too much. It hurt too much. Her chest felt as if it were collapsing, her entire body folding in on itself. “Y-you show up drunk on my doorstep,” she wheezed, “ _crying_ , John. I want to know.” Reaching out with a shaking hand, Zatanna sought the comfort of her friend. “You called me _friend_ and I have to _know_ if I’m going to-”

“Shut the hell up,” Constantine spat, accent growing with the downpour. “You aren’t dyin’. Not if I’ve got say so.” He glared heavily, squint turning into something burning. A pantomime of Superman’s laser vision. “ _Help!_ ” Constantine shouted for the aid of the others.

“ _John_ ,” she begged softly, “I want to know.”

Constantine clenched his eyes shut, inhaling a deep, blood-scented breath. Opening his eyes, Zatanna saw more than the darkness. More than the flame. It was man and mystery before her. She saw all of it at once.

“I dunno,” he chuckled in earnest, “he put up with my shit. Had his own shit I put up with too.” Constantine gritted his teeth again, this time he looked as if he were bracing for a punch.

Zatanna shared the laugh, weak and wet. “What a romantic,” she quipped, closing her eyes for a moment only to be brutally shaken awake.

“Stay awake,” Constantine demanded of her. “Stay awake, Zatanna, damn you!”

“‘M awake,” she felt the words pulled from her. “Why did you break up,” Zatanna drew out the conversation, something for her bleeding conscious to hang on to. Something that kept her grounded as the cold rain became numb against her skin.

Constantine huffed, turning his gaze from approaching footsteps to look at Zatanna. He was blurry in her vision. Unfocused. It was only because she had known those eyes for so long that she had seen the darkness drown the man and the mystery until he was a shadow. The broken pieces of refractive crystal that made a stained glass image - fragile and multifaceted. The ugly hollowness hidden beneath man and mystery - warlock and occult - melding the piece together until it created the vision of John Constantine in her mind.

As her vision blurred and the footsteps hurried, the cold became nothing and the warmth became nothing and there _was_ nothing. Nothing but Constantine’s whispered response.

“ _You know what happens to the people around me._ ”

Zatanna woke with a start. Scratchy blankets scrunched in her palms as she examined the white steeled room. The monitor recording her heartbeat was a gentle thrum under her ringing pulse. Gasping for a breath, Zatanna took in the room again. It wasn’t altogether unfamiliar, but there was no certainty that she was safe with her team.

Then again, she _had_ been dying in John Constantine’s arms. And John Constatine would - _quite literally_ on some occasions - move Heaven and Earth to get something done. Shakily looking to the viewing window that forbade any true privacy in the medical room, Zatanna could barely make out her reflection.

She was paler than usual, eyes sunken in. She hoped that all this damn mess was over. Zatanna was so _fucking tired._

And thinking back on to Constantine's words, maybe he was too.

* * *

It was one of the few meetings that had required a multitude of teams. The Justice League themselves were in attendance, along with Harley Quinn’s Suicide Squad and Zatanna’s own League. Zatanna kept her focus to the Martian Manhunter, who was currently speaking. His words were steady and pointed. Other League members often strolled around their point, but the Martian was not one to coat anything.

Zatanna leaned forward, watching as Aquaman spoke to raise a point. “I understand that, but what about-”

An emergence from the side door signaled someone’s entry. The late arrival was - of course - the Flash. Arguably the fastest man alive and he always seemed to be late. Zatanna smirked, eyes roaming to her on time teammates. Even Swamp Thing found himself to be timely when these meetings were called. And yet-

The Flash’s eyes were wide beneath his cowl. His gaping mouth made several aborted movements, voicing silent syllables until he swallowed. “Was anyone going to tell me about Constantine and King Shark or was I just supposed to find that out myself?” The words were so rushed and sudden that Zatanna feared even Superman almost missed them.

Surprisingly, it was Batman who spoke up first. The caped crusader sighed, “I told you we were meeting in room 3, Flash.”

“That doesn’t mean _the first four rows of room 5 will get wet!_ ” The Flash squeaked, pale skin that peeked out from the costume burning cherry red.

“You only get wet if you get off on it,” Harley quipped, dark painted lips beaming. “‘sides, Zatanna and I _deserve_ the friggin’ peace we’re gettin’ now.”

Almost laughing, for Zatanna could hardly help it, she returned the smile in kind. From Harley’s side, Captain Boomerang spoke up. “Never woulda thought Sharky to be the _pinin’_ type but there we were.”

“Don’t get me started on _Constantine_ ,” Bobo - both affectionately and unaffectionately referred to as Detective Chimp - seemed to have Batman’s same philosophy to the meeting’s interruption, except the distinct smell of whisky that clung to half of Zatanna’s team also permeated from the ape. “In fact, I’d much prefer if we could just _get back to this_.”

Superman, that golden boy poster child of all superheroics, turned to face the Flash again before resuming his attention on listening to the Martian’s report. “We should get through this.”

“Thank you, Kal-El,” Martian Manhunter politely addressed the teams again before his listing resumed. Whatever Aquaman’s question or rebuff had been once was no longer an issue after the sudden interruption. The Flash slowly carried himself to his own seat, eyes looking off in the distance.

One of the Suicide Squad’s newer members leaned over, whispering something that had the speedster recoiling and flushing deeper. Zatanna had a feeling she knew what it was about. After all, Constantine had been right about _King bloody Shark_ ’s features.

Zatanna was tired. Bloody tired most of the time. But for once, she found herself rested as she listened to the Martian’s voice continue - Constantine and his beau a distant sound in her mind.

_Until a half-hour later. Constantine came swaggering in, smirk dancing on his features as his dark eyes drank in the picture of the teams’ meeting. “I’d apologize for the lateness, mate,” he met Wonder Woman’s eyes - not a care that he had interrupted her speaking, “but I was busy doing things.”_

_King_ bloody _Shark followed behind him, entering through the open door. His teeth - usually bloody and rotten smelling - were glazed and sharp as he met the eyes of his teammates. “I’m things.”_

_There were too many reactions to record, but Zatanna let herself laugh loudly and abrasively, the sound ricocheting off the steel walls._


End file.
